


I Am Lost And Led Only By The Stars

by nesrynfaliq



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: And domesticness, F/M, Inner Circle - Freeform, Smut, and fluff, but it's mostly just, but obviously it's mostly feyrhys, feyrhys secret santa, little bits of inner circle, sin - Freeform, tiny smidge of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 22:13:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8914924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nesrynfaliq/pseuds/nesrynfaliq
Summary: The first Christmas after the war and Feyre is disappointed when Rhys can't make it back from the Illyrian camps due to a violent snow storm. Rhys decides to throw caution to the wind and do whatever it takes to get back to his mate in time. 
I’m sorry, Feyre. He murmurs to me, tenderly caressing her through the bond, sorrow filtering through to her.I radiate love and forgiveness down the bond to him, It’s alright I tell him softly.No is the reply that comes to me, I know you wanted to spend this day with everyone.Well I purr, running a teasing finger of desire and attraction down the bond, We can have our own Christmas celebration when you get back. I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.A soft growl reaches me down the bond, striking straight at my core and making me shiver. Of course I will he promises me smoothly.





	

Voices fill the living room of the House of Wind where my family has gathered to celebrate Christmas this year. The first Christmas that hasn’t been soaked in the blood and turmoil of war. The first Christmas that we’ve been able to spend together, all of us, as a family. It’s Christmas Eve and we’re beginning to prepare for the celebrations tomorrow. Mor had insisted that this was traditional, waiting for midnight so as to celebrate together as early as possible.

I had agreed and my heart had warmed as they all piled into the living room and began to help me with the decorations. In the mortal realm, in that cottage we had stayed in, Christmas had been little more than any other day of the year. We had still been poor, still been cold, still been starving but...It had been a ray of light, however faint, in the darkness of those years. I had always tried to ensure we had a little more food that day that we didn’t have to be as careful with and we had all made an effort to find gifts for one another, however small.

Still, the holiday had never been that spectacular then and with the last few, war torn years we had barely been able to celebrate it at all. Last year it had taken place on the edge of a battlefield, encamped and armoured, ready for war. As the day had turned we had only had enough time to wish each other merry Christmas before being swept apart to court death once more. So this year, now that we could properly celebrate it for the first time, I was determined to enjoy myself with my family around me.

I pause a moment, pushing back my hair with my arm rather than using my paint covered hand, and look around at them all. Cassian had transformed the chaos of decorating, boxes of glitter and bauble and tinsel spreading all over the floor until our living room had looked half a battlefield itself, into order with an efficiency that had shocked me, in spite of his prowess as a battle commander. Apparently old habits were indeed hard to break and I had been more than happy to allow him to direct the troops and issue them their separate tasks.

Elain and Lucien are decorating the shapely pine tree dominating one corner of the room which Elain had coaxed into being with her magic. She darts around it, artfully placing baubles here and there and directing Lucien who does as he’s told with an agreeable obedience that still surprises me sometimes, even now, a few years after their mating. Utterly smitten with my sister he placidly obeys every order, producing small floating lights that change colours and hover on the trees branches wherever Elain points. He pauses only for soft, chaste kisses every time he passes her, which he makes a point of doing every minute or so.

In the centre of the wall opposite mine, Nesta and Cassian are bickering comfortably. Cassian, no doubt with this in mind, had announced they would decorate the fireplace together and had taken charge of all of the mistletoe Elain had created for the occasion. The current ‘heated debate’ as Elain likes to refer to their spats as seems to have come from the fact that Cassian is insisting on a kiss for every piece of mistletoe that they hang up. I hide my smile before they can see as Cassian insists about ‘tradition’ and Nesta argues something to do with his ‘insatiable idiocy’. Words fly back and forth like hot sparks thrown up from a fire and the only thing that stops them is when Nesta grabs the front of Cassian’s leathers and pulls him down to kiss her deeply.

Nestled together in their own quiet corner as they are, Mor’s rich laugh still reaches me and my eyes drift over to them to find the source. Mor, it seems, had used magic to drape tinsel over the paintings on the walls, not anticipating Az, who had stood up at the wrong moment and found it tangled firmly around his wings. They ruffle and shift apparently on instinct as the bright strings rub against sensitive spots, making them jerk out of his control. Mor is too busy laughing, doubled over, hands on her knees as she tries to compose herself, peers up at him, then starts howling with laughter again. At an indignant, wordless protest from Az, Mor clamps a hand over her mouth to control her giggles and straightens up to help free him. Unable to refrain from giving his wings a few teasing strokes as she does so which has him growling faintly. Smile still blooming on her lips Mor kisses him quiet and I turn away, letting them have this moment. They deserve it, after all.  

I turn back instead to the wall behind me. Once he had finished barking orders at the others Cassian had simply turned to me, bowed a little too deeply and informed me he would never dare presume to order his High Lady around. I had thrown a garland of holly into his face and he had allowed it to strike the faintly mocking smile there without dodging it, as he could easily have done, chuckling behind it. I had shooed him back to my sister, let Nesta deal with him. Then I had decided to do something with the empty stretch of wall.

Pulling out the much larger set of paints and brushes that Cassian and Nesta had given me my last birthday I had set about transforming the blank wall into Velaris. Stars sparkled in the rich black and blue and violet sky I painted at the top of the wall, using my wings to propel me high enough to reach. Snow drifted through the warmly lit streets, Christmas lights and decorations were strung between the houses and in the roads. I had barely noticed anything going on around me until Lucien’s appreciative whistle had jerked me out of my reverie, paint splattered up to my elbows. It’s nearly finished but the stars are...still missing something I can’t quite put my finger on. I try to focus on that and not the gaping hole in my heart that’s all too easy to understand.

I miss my mate. I love having my family around me, smiling, laughing, happy and safe at last. But I miss Rhys more than I care to truly consider. He’s been gone for almost three weeks now but it’s only truly bothered me today, Christmas Eve. We had both gotten used to distance and absences in our relationship, given our positions, the war raging around us it had been inevitable. Even in the aftermath there’s still been so much to do that we’ve gotten good at being without each other and somehow grown closer for it.

 Slipping into his mind to contact him or just to feel him on the other end, loving me, has become as easy and thoughtless as breathing. Closing my eyes I reach out for him. He’s in the Illyrian camps deep in the mountains, called to deal with discipline issues. Usually Cassian would have attended to them and at first he had but...Once it had become clear how the situation would need to be handled and that the camp in question had had some quiet dealings with Amarantha during her reign, he had yielded the task to his High Lord. I had encouraged him to go, knowing that it was important to him and he had not pushed that hard, had only promised to return in time for the celebrations tonight.

I gently caress the bond, pressing lightly on his mind, letting him know that it’s me. He opens their connection at once. Always there’s a thread between us, left open by simple habit and because having nothing feels as though a part of us has died. Through it I can sense soft murmurings of his general emotions, a familiar, comfortable sensation now, like the sound of rain gently pattering against a window. Now though he broadens it and I can _feel_ him, as though our souls have merged together and I sigh faintly in pleasure and relief, _Rhys_ I murmur.

_Hello darling._ He sounds, feels, tired but in spite of myself and the ache in my chest at not having him here, I smile at the contact.

_You should have been here three hours ago,_ I say gently, trying to keep any trace of accusation from my tone. _Is everything alright_. Silence. **_Rhysand_. ** I press him, a soft growl rippling through the bond to him.

He sighs, then. _Truth be told...I may be here a little longer than I had intended_.

Panic flares in my chest and I’m only vaguely aware of the paint pot I send crashing to the ground, the liquid pooling around my feet like blood. _Why_? I demand sharply and I feel Rhys rocked by my panic on the other end of the bond as it crashes down against him, my terror too great to shield him from it quickly enough. Even months after the war has ended I still worry that something may take him away from me. There are nights I can’t sleep unless I cling tightly to him, holding him close, my head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, reminding myself that he’s here, he’s alive him, I didn’t lose him. As I so nearly did.

_What happened? Are you hurt? Do you need me? Are you-_

A thick wave of calm washes over me, pressing in from Rhys, smothering my worries and snuffing them gently out, candle flames pinched out between his fingers. _I’m fine_ he replies firmly, as soon as his words are able to penetrate the thick wall of fear that had engulfed my mind. Shame floods through me at my reaction but I feel Rhys seize firmly on that feeling and soothe it away as well, assuring me gently that it was a natural reaction.

I feel his mind opening more broadly to me, wishing to show me his situation rather than simply explaining it. I accept and the strange sensation of being untethered, uncontained, floating in an endless, empty sea of nothingness though my body remains where it is envelopes me and I yield to it. One moment I’m standing in the House of Wind surrounded by my family the next the dark, frigid Illyrian camp surrounds me and I’m looking through my mate’s eyes. My heart sinks as soon as I adjust to the transition and I see the violent snow storm that’s raging around the mountains, grounding even the fierce, fearless Illyrians.

_I’m sorry, Feyre_. He murmurs to me, tenderly caressing her through the bond, sorrow filtering through to her.

I radiate love and forgiveness down the bond to him, _It’s alright_ I tell him softly.

_No_ is the reply that comes to me, _I know you wanted to spend this day with everyone._  

_Well_ I purr, running a teasing finger of desire and attraction down the bond, _We can have our own Christmas celebration when you get back. I’m sure you’ll make it up to me._  

A soft growl reaches me down the bond, striking straight at my core and making me shiver. _Of course I will_ he promises me smoothly.

I smile and stroke the bond, radiating warm pleasure and happiness, _I love you_.

_I love you too, Feyre_.

I withdraw and start slightly when I find Elain at my side, her hand resting gently on my elbow concern filling her dark brown eyes. “Are you alright, Feyre?” she asks quietly, peering up at me, “You don’t look well.”

The room has fallen quiet and everyone is watching me, mixes of curiosity and concern on their face, waiting for an explanation. I look around at them all and open my mouth to explain but can’t find the words to explain.

Finally, Nesta prompts, not unkindly, “Is it Rhys?”

Clearing my throat I say with difficulty, the words seeming to get stuck, “He won’t be coming. He’s stuck in the camps, he can’t get home tonight.”

There’s a rather heavy silence for a few moments then Mor, glowering beside Azriel declares, “I’ll find the stubborn prick and drag him here if you want. Business or no business.”

“It’s not work,” I hasten to explain to her, “They’ve been pinned down on one of the mountain peaks by a blizzard.”

Cass curses softly at that and he and Az exchange a look. Both of them know the kinds of brutal conditions those mountains suffer that will make flying too dangerous and winnowing with any kind of confidence near impossible. They’re both sympathetic when they turn back to me and even Mor doesn’t seem to be able to think of a solution, not even suggesting that she and Cass find the life-sized paper Rhys that they had painted for me a year ago to stop me brooding over Rhys’s absence one of the first times we had been parted. They had assured me they had made Rhys a similar figure of me during my time in the Spring Court but had denied all my requests to see it.

Elain gently squeezes my arm, “I’m so sorry, Feyre,” she murmurs quietly.

I nod, swallowing hard and trying to force a smile to return to the levity of a few minutes ago, though the last thing I feel like doing now is preparing for a family party in the absence of my mate. A heavy silence fills the room, broken by Amren who marches up to me and shoves a goblet of strong, spiced wine into my hands.

“Nothing else for it girl,” she announces with her usual bluntness, silver eyes glinting eerily in the firelight.

Sighing in agreement, I raise the glass in a silent toast to the stars painted on the wall behind me for my mate then drain a large swallow of the sharp wine.

****

An hour or so before midnight, by Azriel’s reckoning, we gather in a circle in front of the fire and the now handsomely decorated Christmas tree. The tinsel that had earlier been tangled in Az’s wings is now draped artfully around it (Elain had taken over after Mor’s disaster) and Lucien’s differently coloured lights cast a warm, pulsing rainbow glow over the room. Mor, impatient with waiting for the bells to ring out over the city announcing the start of the celebration, had requested opening one present each now and we had all agreed.

Amren had a great success with her spiced wine and it flows as freely as the talk and laughter. In spite of myself and my disappointment at Rhys’s absence the atmosphere is infectious and I feel my fondness swelling for everyone in the room as we move around in a circle, opening gifts, trying to guess who they were from and thanking each other. I watch with a soft smile on my face, sipping my wine as wrapping paper fills the air in clouds as thick as the flurries of snow filling up the windows outside.

 Elain opens one of Lucien’s gifts first and regrets it almost at once when she reveals a pair of very thin, lacy underwear that leave very little to the imagination and have Nesta choking on her wine and Elain flushing as deeply scarlet as Lucien’s hair while Cassian and Mor howl with laughter. Once she’s finished glowering at Lucien, who takes mock cover behind Elain in order to avoid her venomous glares, Nesta opens her gift. She smiles with appreciative surprise at Azriel and Mor and their gift of tickets to one of her favourite ballets which is currently performing in Velaris. Next,  Azriel nods his head gratefully to Elain when he opens her parcel of various different knitting materials and she beams at his approval. Cass exclaims happily over Amren’s gift to him of various rare spices and herbs for his kitchen that he hasn’t been able to get his hands on since before the war. Mor crawls across circle to pull me into a grateful hug that squeezes all the air from my lungs at the special edition of one of her favourite books I had been lucky enough to stumble across at a Summer Court market a few months ago. I’m just tearing into a neatly wrapped gift Cassian had tossed my way with a self-satisfied grin and a wink when the door behind me bursts open without warning.

In an instant everyone is on their feet, pulling out weapons from where they had been concealed on their bodies, instinctively pressing me and my sisters behind them to protect us. I feel the room pulse with energy as everyone begins to draw upon their powers, ready to attack or defend as needed. I’m the first one to break the defensive formation we had leapt automatically into, months of training and battle burning the information into our minds when I feel a soft tug on the bond and recognise the source of the interruption.

“Rhys!” I cry, pushing my way between Mor and Cassian while they struggle to recover from the shock of my mate’s unexpected arrival. For he is indeed standing on the threshold, dripping snow and ice onto the carpet and looking distinctly the worse for wear.

“Hello Feyre, darling,” he greets me with a valiant attempt at his usual velvet smooth greeting, though he sways rather alarmingly in place, causing me to move a little closer, sliding an arm around him just in case.

“The storm-“ I begin, gazing urgently up at him as I wait for an answer.

He interrupts me, looking down at me with overly bright eyes saying softly, “You look wonderful,” before he drops a tender kiss to my lips.

I roll my eyes and punch him gently on the chest, “You flew all this way through that blizzard?” I demand and when he only blinks at me serenely I let out a low hiss. “You’re an idiot,” I snarl at him, conflicted by the warring emotions in me, a mix of gratitude, amusement, indignation and worry.

“You’re magnificent,” he responds, that slightly punch-drunk gleam blazing in his violet eyes, making them burn with the same kind of light that the fever of battle had always inspired in him. 

I open my mouth to repeat more strongly the fact that he’s an idiotic prick but before I can get the words out, Cassian is elbowing me out of the way and clapping Rhys on the shoulder, congratulating him on his ‘romantic gesture’. I catch Nesta’s eye and exchange a look that plainly says _Illyrian males_ as Cass brightly shoves a celebratory glass of wine into Rhys’s hands. Smiling, Elain gently takes my mate’s elbow and leads him towards the fire, shooing the rest of us until we dutifully reform our circle, the outline of which remains marked by the shreds of wrapping paper strewn around it and the recently opened gifts.

As we settle down and Amren refills everyone’s glasses of wine with a wave of her hand I take the opportunity to continue my conversation with Rhys through the bond, not at all ready to let him off the hook for his stupidity. Romantic gesture or not. He maintains a calm mask of cool innocence until I let a little of my temper fray and snap in frustration, _it wouldn’t have mattered if you had been a day late. As long as you got here it wouldn’t have mattered at all. You could have been hurt, you were-_

_But I’m not_ , he interjects smoothly, a ripple of emotion hitting me from his end of the bond though in the torrid chaos of my own I fail to determine exactly what it is.

_That’s not the point_ , I all but snarl at him, _You could have been-_

_It would have mattered to you._ Rhys interrupts. The voice in my mind is quiet, soft, and far less forceful than my anger and fear fuelled protestations. But it’s as hard and unyielding as adamant for all that. _You wanted this time, this first time with all of us, to be special, and you deserved that. You deserve this. It would have mattered._ He concludes with maddening simplicity.

Doesn’t he understand? Of course I had wanted everyone here, of course I had wanted _him_ here especially to celebrate with us but to argue the way he is, to risk what he did... _It would have mattered to me a lot more if you’d splattered yourself against a mountain trying to get here. What then, Rhys?_

He can’t ignore the stab of panic in my tone and I see his eyes darken slightly. His hand settles on the small of my back, squeezing and I know when he answers that he’s trying to lighten the moment again, trying to stop me dwelling in the darkness he can no doubt see gathering behind my eyes. _I’m rather insulted that you think so little of my flying abilities, darling._

I snort at this, but allow him to add a little humour to the conversation all the same. _You were idiotic enough to fly through a blizzard_ I remind him coolly, _You didn’t get through that on skill it was either luck or sheer arrogance._

_Or my deep, undying love for you, my mate_ he says, with such an overly exaggerated expression to match that I can’t stop myself snorting derisively again.

_If that’s supposed to impress me-_ I begin irritably.

_You know, I did think it might_ he teases lightly.

_What would impress me is if you weren’t such a stupid prick for once_ I snap in exasperation, some of my worries surging back up again as I note a small bruise on wrist.

_Feyre_ , he says quietly, allowing the word to echo through my mind for a moment, grounding me, _I’m here._

I soften a little at those words, at the implication and soothing warmth behind them and I melt a little before him. I brush my fingers against his, cold as ice despite the fire roaring in the grate behind us, take his hand in mine, squeezing gently. _Thank you, Rhys_. I stroke my thumb against the back of his hand and lean in to him at the same time he leans in to me. Our lips meet in a warm, loving kiss. When I draw away I keep my forehead pressed against his even as I say flatly through our bond, _But don’t you ever do anything like this again._

He tuts, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth _, So ungrateful, High Lady-_

A loud pointed cough interrupts us and we both jump, turning in unison to see Cassian smirking at the pair of us, eyes wide. “There are seven other people in this room you know.”

Rhys irritably snaps one of his wings in Cassian’s direction, spattering him with the freezing droplets of water clinging to the edge of it. Cassian just laughs though Nesta hisses in indignation when a few of them hit her as well. Rhys half-shrugs apologetically to her and takes a measured sip from his goblet, eyes twinkling at me. I blush a little however and clear my throat, trying to return myself to the present while my mind remains full of nothing but my mate’s presence, beginning to savour that fact at last.

Shivering slightly, wings half-furled, Rhysand shifts a little closer to the fire, attempting to dry them. I smirk at him and then I turn to continue opening Cassian’s gift to me, Rhys looking on curiously at my side, sipping his wine as though he’s been here all evening as I unveil a long thin black case with intricate silver Illyrian runes painted on it. I can’t read them but Rhys, Azriel, Mor and Amren seem to be as they all make appreciative noises and nod their approval at Cassian. I smile broadly at him as I carefully open the case and behold the beautiful wood bow cradled within. Unstrung I carefully lift it out to admire it, running my fingers down the supple, exquisitely shaped and carved with more runes, rough enough that I look up at Cass, meeting his eyes, knowing that he carved them himself.

“What do they say?” I ask him softly.

Cassian swallows, seeming to struggle a little for words but Rhys, after glancing at him, translates them for me. “Our names, our family,” he says quietly. He runs his hand around the tip of the bow, tapping each rune as he explains it, “The Court of Dreams,” he reads and then moves down the beautifully shaped weapon, listing the names of everyone present in the room with me.

Standing I urge Cassian to his feet too and pull him into one of the bear hugs he’s so fond of giving me, my throat feeling a little tight. “Thank you,” I manage to get out to him, hoping that he knows, that he understands the depth of my emotion and my gratitude that he would do something like this for me.

“You’re welcome,” Cassian replies, his voice gruff as he gives me a gentle squeeze.

We settle back down into the circle and Mor makes an inordinate fuss over opening Rhys’s gift of her favourite whiskey to her to give us both a moment.

 I glance up at Rhys and find my mate looking down at me, a soft smile brushing his lips. _You knew._ I say. It’s not truly a question but he inclines his head.

_Cassian already had his eyes on the bow. I suggested he  add the inscription but the words were from him, from all of us._

_That’s why you wanted to be here so badly with me. So I could see this, so I could understand..._ Understand that, as important as this family was to me, I was important to it as well.

Rhys nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows, his eyes on me. _This court_ he murmurs tenderly into my mind, _This family, was incomplete without you, Feyre. I was incomplete without you. And I needed you to know how much you mean to me, how much I love you._

_I would have known that without you flying through a storm and half-killing yourself_ I can’t stop myself from arguing, even though there are tears forming in my eyes. I irritably brush them away.

Rhys softly takes my chin in his hand then guides my lips to his, kissing me softly, slowly. _I would fly through a hundred storms for you, Feyre. You’re worth that. That and so much more._

_Dramatics_ , I chide him and he laughs but then he’s kissing me again, deeply this time, and I allow myself to melt into it, into him, forgetting that the rest of the world exists for a moment.

We break apart to find the rest of the Circle watching us, grinning faintly. Mor is the first to move, getting to her feet and sliding her hand into Azriel’s, “Didn’t we have to...” she begins airily widening her eyes significantly at him.

“Yes, we did,” he agrees smoothly, without a trace of hesitancy or embarrassment at the blatant lie.

I blink at them as Azriel rises too and the two of them move towards the great window at the other end of the room. “You’re leaving?” I ask blankly.

Mor grins, “We’ll give you a little time to reunite properly,” she says, winking at me. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back for the food and the presents later.”

“But-“ I begin uncertainly as Cassian, Nesta follow suit, rising to their feet and moving towards the window as well.

“It’s alright, Feyre,” Cassian reassures me with a broad smirk almost identical to Mor’s, “We can tell when we’re not wanted.”

Elain just smiles at me without even bothering at any kind of pretence she drags Lucien up after her by the hand and says simply, “Enjoy yourselves,” which seems to settle things.

The two Illyrians ferry the others out in record time, apparently wanting to give us peace swiftly and I wonder if my desire for my mate had really been that obvious or if they all simply understood what I felt like having been parted from the ones they love before. When I look around at the room I realise that Amren had slipped off while the others were making small talk, not bothering to verbally excuse herself before she gave us privacy.

“So much for a family Christmas...” I mutter under my breath.

Rhys laughs, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. We won’t be able to get rid of them later once we start serving food.”

I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously, “Did you...” I begin slowly, wondering if perhaps he had given our guests a gentle nudge with his mind to buy us a few hours alone together after his return.

“No,” he replies, all together too innocent.

“ _Rhys,_ ” I grit out, half-reprimand, half-longing groan as, now we’re alone and he’s widened the bond, I can feel desire pulsing through me in hot, thick waves.

Then his lips are on mine once more, encouraging mine to open for him, and he’s pulling me hard against him, hand sliding into my hair- I yelp and draw back from him as though burned and he jumps and stares at me in surprise and alarm. “You’re freezing!” I object, batting him away furiously when he grins and tries to press himself against me anyway.

“Then perhaps, Feyre, you could help me out of these wet clothes and warm me up,” he suggests silkily.

I snort at this idea, “I’ll do no such thing,” I retort tartly. “It’s your own fault you’re soaked through.”

He nuzzles gently against my neck in answer, “Such a cruel, wicked thing you are,” he murmurs quietly, his breath hot against my skin despite the chill that emanates from the rest of him. I can’t suppress the shiver that whispers through me in answer. His fingers work at the silver fastenings of his tunic, unbuttoning them one at a time, far more slowly than he needs to, making sure that my eyes follow his measured progress. “Having me do everything myself when I flew all this way to find you.”

I swallow hard, watching with as much composure as I can muster, limiting our bond to a faint trickle and nothing more, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much this is affecting me. Rhys gets to his feet in a single swift, powerful movement and I follow him with my eyes. His tunic now hangs open and I can see the tanned muscles of his stomach beneath, the inky tendrils of his tattoo that curl over and around his chest and shoulders like thick black smoke. Slowly, so slowly, enjoying every second of this torment, this battle of wills and desires between  us, he shrugs his tunic off, letting the heavy, sodden garment drop to the floor.

I refuse to give him any response, remaining sat placidly on the floor in front of him. My eyes remain determinedly fixed on his as his hands drift slowly beneath his stomach, slowly tugging at the laces of his trousers. I can feel a muscle twitching in my jaw, sweat starting to bead along my back and suddenly the room around us feels too hot and utterly devoid of air, as though the fire has roared out of the grate and filled the whole house. It burns in my blood and in my core and it takes every bit of stubborn willpower I have to keep my eyes fixed calmly on my mate’s. I hear him pop the button on the front of his trousers, hear them slide slowly down his legs until he kicks them off, bare before me in nothing but his skin.

Slowly, I get to my feet and then move to stand in front him, never once breaking his gaze though my lungs are tight, my breathing shallow and I know my eyes are blown wide with hunger. He lazily tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before he leans in, purring suggestively into my ear, breath hot, voice dripping with want, “Well?”

In answer I reach with dignity into a pocket realm and composedly produce a towel with which to dry him off.

Rhys barks out a rough laugh that lowers to a growl the moment I begin to pat the moisture from his wings. He shudders even at this light contact and I let a slow, wolfish smile spread across my lips as I circle around to his back. “Feyre...” he whispers softly with both his mouth and his mind as I place my hand on his shoulders and press. Slowly he sinks to his knees before me and I feel the effect of it, of seeing this High Lord, my husband, my mate, lower himself for me, down onto those mountains and stars. For me. Only for me.

“You are mine,” I murmur softly onto the top of his head and I feel him still and then shiver beneath me.

I move round to his back again and coax him to spread those beautiful wings for me, opening them out until they fill the room around us. I admire the rich ebony membrane, supple and sheer as silk stretched taught, the veins streaking through it like shooting stars across a starless night, leaving blazing, fiery trails in their wake.

“You wicked, wicked-“ Rhys murmurs but his breath catches, sucked past his teeth as I trail my finger gently along the outer crest of his wing, the sensation richer and deeper from the light brief pulses of contact with the towel. I give him a few more teasing strokes, catching all of the places I know are sensitive and I continue touching as I circle him slowly, moving to stand in front of him once more.

He looks up at me as I halt in front of him, where he kneels before me, his violet eyes heavy with so much lust and love that I almost stagger at the way it pierces my heart, my very soul.

“I take it,” he murmurs softly, his eyes dragging up and down my body, hands bracing lightly on my hips, “That you are dressed.... _Appropriately_ for the occasion?”

I know he doesn’t mean my dress, stunning as it is. Layers of sheer black lace layered together to form the sweeping skirts, the bodice tight and fitted with sleeves of a light, chiffon material that flow up to my shoulders where they’re fixed with two small silver broaches and then ripple down the back in long streamers until they reach the floor. The whole thing is scattered with small purple gems that catch the light and sparkle like stars. But I know that Rhys is far more interested in what lies under it.

I smile suggestively at him, dropping the towel on the floor at my feet. “Why don’t you find out, High Lord?” I suggest quietly, watching the way his eyes dance with wicked delight.

Rhys arches forwards, picking apart the loose belt around my hips, pulling it slowly through the loops, smiling up at me. He’s going to drag this out, going to take it slow, make me wait, make me suffer while he can feel the desire blazing through me from the bond. I lean into every touch, every faint, rare brush of his skin against mine, my eyes closing. He pops the clasps in the front of the dress and it opens out for him, splitting into two halves, designed for him to peel apart in precisely the manner he’s now doing.

He lets a growl slip past his lips as he takes in the lingerie I’m wearing for him. Deep blue lace threaded with strings of small white pearls that catch in the firelight, thin and a little loose they were designed for being removed. Chosen especially for this moment, when the others would leave us and it would just be the two of us again, reuniting properly after our time apart.

“Stunning,” he whispers softly. The reverence clinging to the word wouldn’t have been out of place had prayers been dropping from his lips and the way he looks at me, the need in his eyes. I shudder, winding my fingers softly through his hair, trying to coax him closer, trying to urge him to give me what I want.

A low growl shudders through him and he leans forwards, pressing a kiss to my chest just below my bra then he moves down, down over my stomach, over my navel and then his fingers are curling into the thin scrap of lace around my hips. I’m used to him teasing, running his fingers beneath the hem, pressing kisses and soft questions into my skin, asking if I want him, if I’d like this but tonight...Tonight he just nudges me back until I’m braced against the wall, the wall I had painted to resemble our home.

“You smell divine,” he murmurs to me and that’s all the warning I get before he’s guiding my underwear slowly down my legs, not rushing but not fully taking his time either, baring him to me. I whimper softly, I had expected teasing, had expected him to drag this out as long as he could, to-

_And why_ , Rhys’s voice interrupts my tangled thoughts, _Would I ever wait to taste you, Feyre? Why..._ he nudges my legs apart and I feel my eyes flutter close, my head drifting back to lean against the wall. _Why would I ever tease you when you’re so wet for me_? His voice falters a little and he swallows hard as his fingers slip between my legs. _And when..._ He hooks one of my thighs over his shoulder and puts his mouth on me, _When you taste so delicious._

I moan, arching back against the wall, one hand reaching up to scrabble against it, needing something to anchor myself to. Rhys devours me as though he’s been starving for me for for years. “Rhys,” I groan hoarsely, “ _Rhys_ ,” I gasp out. I hadn’t realised until now how much I had needed him, how much I had needed the release he was building me up to.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, and just his breath on me is enough to make me shudder. “You’re perfect, darling,” he breathes and I shudder.

“Rhys,” I whisper faintly, “Rhys please,” I whisper, trembling, my body building up higher and higher and I just want to come for him, his mouth on me, his fingers in me- I cry out loudly, my back arching as he responds to my unspoken need, sliding a finger easily into me, pumping it slowly in and out, his mouth still moving on me, a little faster now, tongue circling my clit the way he knows I love.

_Please what, Feyre?_ He purrs softly through the bond. I let out a low snarl in response, tugging a little more sharply in his hair as his mouth slows on me, his fingers pausing inside me as he waits for my answer.

_Don’t tease me, you prick,_ I snap at him.

A low thrum of wicked laughter ripples through my body in response to that, _Demanding_ he chides me but his fingers make a few soft, shallow pumps in me, his tongue lapping gently against me but without the pressure that I need.

_What do you want?_ He whispers to me and I choke out a moan, rocking my hips against his mouth.

_You_ I manage to tell him, _You, Rhys. I want you, my lord, my husband, my_ mate _._ He shivers and moves a little faster, a little more urgently. _I want-_ I shiver, back arching as I cry out his name. Close, so close.

_“Rhys_ ,” I moan with both mouth and voice, unable to keep my pleasure solely contained to the bond anymore.

_Say it, darling_ he coaxes and I tremble as I look down and see his eyes feasting on me as hungrily as the way his mouth moves between my thighs.

“I want you to make me come, Rhys,” I gasp.

He growls quietly against me and then redoubles his efforts, his fingers pumping swiftly inside me. His mouth and tongue working through my folds and then his teeth scrape lightly over my clit and I come screaming his name into the void of stars I had painted on the wall above me.

Rhys gently eases my thigh from his shoulder but my legs are trembling so badly I’m barely capable of supporting my own weight as the aftershocks of my climax pulse through me. Rhys braces his hands on my hips, steadying me and presses soft kisses to my stomach, helping me cool down as I gasp for breath.

“Rhys,” I whisper hoarsely. Slowly sinking down until I’m on my knees opposite him, his hands still anchored securely around my waist I don’t protest as he shifts closer to me. “Rhys,” I murmur again, my eyes fluttering closed and he pulls me in against him, knowing what I need a moment before I do.

His arms wrap tenderly around me, drawing me in close, pressing his nose into my hair even as I bury my face into the crook of his neck. Still breathing hard I pull his scent deep into my lungs. The smell of citrus and the sea and the undertones of my own scent, fresh grass and wood varnish, blend together in me and I smile against his skin. My mate. My home.

“I missed you,” I mumble thickly against him.

“Of course you did,” he smirks and I catch the smug thought that trails through his mind following those words, _You can’t come like that yourself now, can you?_

“Prick,” I huff out loud and he laughs softly, breath stirring through my hair like a warm breeze.

Reaching down between his legs I grip him gently in my hand and give him a few gentle, testing strokes. I smirk in satisfaction as he lets out a shuddering gasp and then a rough growl as I trace the edge of a wing with my nail.  

Lighting fast his hand darts out and catches my wrist, tugging me away as I start to descend down to the sensitive membrane. His eyes glitter as I pull back to look into them and a thin, wicked smile drags at the corners of his lips. He runs his tongue slowly along his bottom lip, wetting it, then says, voice like molten ink dark silk, “Now now, Feyre...” I shiver slightly and then he leans in, slowly kissing his way up my neck, pausing to suck at every spot he knows will make me moan. “No teasing,” he whispers against my skin, nibbling on my earlobe before he continues, “Or this will be over entirely too quickly.” I shiver at the almost overwhelming pulse of desire he sends to me down the bond, “I’ve waited too long for this moment,” he murmurs, pressing the words into my ear now. His fingers slip, almost lazily, through my slick folds, teasing, but he twines his fingers through my hair, keeping my head still, stopping me drawing away from where his lips remain pressed against my ear as my body arches in pleasure.

“Rhys-“ I growl, but he takes no notice.

His voice has dropped, becoming lower, rougher, more primal, “I’ve thought about t his. Being with you again, being _in_ you again...Haven’t you thought about that?”

“Y-Yes,” I manage to stammer, struggling to think past his low voice in my ear, his fingers on me, the heat tightening once again in my core. “Every night you were away,” I admit, my words trembling with the need that ripples through me, the need I shove gracelessly down the bon at him, too desperate for delicacy.

He laughs softly at the feel then his next words tear through the thin shreds of self control I was clinging to when he says, “Then you’ll understand, Feyre,” his voice has lowered to a smooth purr that vibrates through every inch of me through the bond, “Why I don’t intend to come tonight until I’m inside you.”

Groaning, I lose patience with his teasing and brace my hands against his shoulders, pushing him down gently but firmly until he’s lying down on the lush black fur rug before the fire watching me with a razor-edged smile. I follow him, straddling his hips and looking down at him. Before I can act and take him in me his hands are on my hips, stilling me, settling me. I look down at him, raising my eyebrow slightly but he only smiles and after a moment I oblige him, allowing him to take a little more time with me than I’d been intending.

His hands rises slowly and smoothly from my waist, caressing every curve of my body, my skin sliding beneath his hands like silk liquid flowing over marble. Gently, Rhys pops the clasps of my bra, one at a time and then teases the straps slowly down my arms until the garment falls away from me. I toss it roughly aside out of his way and he lets another low, dark chuckle, his eyes glinting with amusement as he peers up at me.

Carefully, as though every inch of me is precious, he cups my breasts in his hands, his fingers gently tugging and teasing my nipples until they peak for him. He touches me as though my body is an altar and he means to spend the night praying, worshipping every inch of me. I start to slowly rock my hips in his lap until his considerable self control snaps and he lets out a low groan, fingers slipping a little over me, his calluses catching on the sensitive spots, making me gasp.

_I want you to be inside me_ , I urge him down the bond, not trusting my tongue to get the words out past the pleasure that’s starting to flare in my stomach again.

_I’d very much like that too, darling_ , Rhys tells me and the voice that reaches me is a little strained, betraying his need, his desperation.

I take him in my hand and lift up off of him slightly, missing the warmth of his skin against mine as soon as I do. _I want to feel everything_ , I tell him simply and in answer he opens the bond wide between us, letting the scorching fire of his need crash into me. I moan at the feel of it and then again, longer and lower, as I sink down on him and my back arches at the stretch of him as he fills him once again.  

Panting in an effort to compose myself I roll my hips gently against him and he groans, his head tipping back, exposing the strong column of his throat to me. His hands grip large fistfuls of the rug beneath us, anchoring himself to it and I know through the bond that he’s already close, already starving for me. I brace my hands on his chest, right where those beautiful tattoos trail to an end, making it look as though the ink bleeds from his skin and into mine, connecting us through the tattoo that he had marked on me when he had sworn me in as his High Lady.

Slowly I start to move on him, lifting up and then sinking back down and he shudders and looses another soft groan for me. Rhys has never been shy about being vocal in bed with me, particularly when I ride him like this. Taking his chin gently between my thumb and forefinger I tilt his head up and then rasp, “Look at me, Rhys.” His eyes snap open at once and I whine faintly in the back of my throat at the look in them.

Grinding down firmly against him, my breathing heavy and ragged I clench my hand a little on his chest, my nails biting into his skin. “You were an idiot,” I pant to him, lifting myself up and pushing down on him a little harder making us both gasp. “You could have been hurt, you could have been killed, I could have lost you today...”

“But?” he whispers, his eyes shining, hearing the slight hesitation in my tone or sensing it through the bond that burns vast and wide as the Sidra between us I don’t know.

I’m quiet for a moment, letting the sound of our deep, ragged breaths and the crackling fire behind us fill the room. Then I say softly, “...No-one has ever done anything like that for me before.”

Rhys reaches up and softly tucks my hair behind my ears, wanting to see my face as he cradles my cheek in a hand, his thumb stroking softly, and says, “I know.” I shiver slightly at the words, swallowing hard, never taking my eyes from him as he adds quietly, “That’s why I did it.”

I let out a soft cry, slamming down on him a little harder, causing his hips to jerk up into mine and we both arch back, savouring the feeling of being with each other again. I take the hand that’s still cradling my cheek between my fingers and guide it to my lips, closing my eyes and kissing his knuckles.

“I love you for that,” I whisper softly, faintly, as though afraid to let those words loose, afraid to indulge that selfish confession. “But,” I groan, moving harder on him, feeling myself getting closer with every movement, “Promise...Promise me,” I rasp out, my body shaking as I fight for control to maintain my rhythm, “Promise me you’ll never do that to me again.”

He moans but I slow my pace a little, growling at him low in my chest until he nods his head, “I promise,” he whispers and that’s enough for me.

My rhythm becomes faster, my strokes rougher and I feel Rhys starting to lift his hips into mine, thrusting up into me, meeting every movement, our bodies perfectly in sync. I moan at the feel of him and Cauldron I’ve missed this, I’ve missed him, missed him so badly...Only with him in me like this do I feel truly whole, truly myself. He brings me out of myself in ways that no-one else can and a part of me can’t help but feel a little lost, untethered and incomplete without him by my side where he belongs.

“Rhys,” I whisper hoarsely.

“Feyre,” he echoes faintly.

His fingers slip between my folds again, finding my clit and making me shudder and moan his name again. I can feel him through the bond, how close he is, how much he wants this, wants me, wants the release that we’re swiftly building up to together. Panting, I grind down harder against him, letting soft moans spill out of my mouth, holding nothing back from him. I can feel him struggling to hold on for me, the hand that isn’t buried between my thighs grasps a thick fistful of the rug beneath us instead and grips it tightly, anchoring himself to it.

I tug gently on the bond and whisper down it, _come with me, Rhys_. I shatter at the next pulse of my hips down against his and he obliges me, following me with a roar that rattles through my bones as I feel him climaxing inside me. He moves his hips a few more times, guiding me through it and then slumps down onto the rug, panting hard, dragging his fingers through his sweaty hair.

Closing my eyes I lean forwards, lying down on top of his chest and trembling a little. Rhys lazily lifts the tips of his fingers and coaxes a thick, swirling blanket of night to cover our entwined bodies. Using the fire I had gained from the Autumn Court I heat it and he smiles, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. The tips of his fingers trail lightly up and down and I squirm in pleasure on top of him and he smiles fondly, kissing my head again.

“I love you,” he murmurs quietly, nuzzling affectionately against me.

I smile, “I love you too,” I huff against his chest, without lifting my head where it’s pillowed against his shoulder or opening my eyes. Then I add irritably through the bond, _Even if you are a dramatic prick sometimes._  

He huffs out a laugh at that and nudges my head up so that he can press a delicate kiss to my lips which I hum fondly in to. “Admit it,” he murmurs in my ear, “You do love me for it.”  

I gently punch his chest, shaking my head, but I bury my face against him again before he can see the blush staining my cheeks and giving me away. His body shakes as he laughs and he lightly pokes and tickles at my sides until I’m forced to push myself away from him in an attempt to escape and he catches sight of my still burning face and laughs all the harder for it.

“Prick,” I mutter but there’s a laugh on my lips and warm tenderness murmuring down the bond from me to him and he only smiles and kisses me again in answer.

I settle back down on his chest, closing my eyes and breathing him in, “I do love you,” I say softly, fingers absently tracing the tattoos that trail over his chest and down his arms.

He hums gently in contentment and softly kisses my temple. _I know you do, Feyre._ He says, the bond throbbing warmly between us as he says this.

Outside the raging snowstorm finally begins to calm and the sky clears, bathing us in an endless ocean of stars that have now been revealed and that mirror the painting I had put on the wall behind us.

“Merry Christmas, Rhys,” I say softly.

He smiles and kisses me long and slow and deep before he replies quietly, “Merry Christmas, Feyre, darling.”

***

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


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